


I'll Make You Feel Pure

by mochisquish



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochisquish/pseuds/mochisquish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan and Sam are in a loving relationship but their failing sex life has Sam finding himself grow weak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Make You Feel Pure

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a fill for [this prompt](http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4397.html?thread=3939373#t3939373) on the [tronkinkmeme](http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com).

It was wrong but he kept going.

Hands, smaller than his own, agile, but not a woman’s, hooked into his pants, tangled in his hair – caressed and violated, trapped him and set him free. Sam caught the other man’s mouth, didn’t shy away when the stubble of his beard left scratches on his upper lip, didn’t pull away when a touch unfamiliar landed on his aching erection.

“Hurry up,” left his lips with heavy, damp breath as he struggled with Ed’s clothing, hands shaking from excitement and dread. Fingers wrapped around the back of the smaller man’s neck, pushed him head-first onto the desk while another hand tore at his pants, pulled them around Ed’s knees leaving him exposed and vulnerable and at Sam’s mercy. Sam pressed against him; he couldn’t wait. He was restless and someone might find them, and he hated himself but needed to sin, was mad with desire but needed the deed over quickly.

He pushed his cockhead inside, as slowly as nerves would allow as body draped over the man beneath him; pressed his chest against Ed’s back until the erratic beating of his heart thrummed into the other’s skin. He thrust in deeper, closer now to his enemy than he ever was to his friends. The man was poison, spent his time at ENCOM killing Sam slowly, and Ed never got to celebrate victory because now the heir of Kevin Flynn embraced his own destruction.

The lithe body rocked against his own, demanded a certain pace, demanded to be his equal. Sam bit Ed’s neck, sucked in the scent of him, crisp and clean like running water overshadowed only by the thick fog of sweat and lust.

A hand slipped between the other’s legs, wrapped tight around his arousal and Sam licked his lips, growled in Ed’s ear, “You’re dripping.”

The words felt strange on his tongue, dirty, embarrassing, arousing. He wasn’t used to being crude, always felt judged when filth left his lips like it was a reflection on his character. The other man understood; they were peers with the same drive, from the same messed up generation, and when Sam purred, “You like getting fucked by your boss?” Ed bucked his hips and moaned shamelessly.

His other hand wandered under Ed’s shirt and palm pressed into the smooth curve of his back, over tight muscles, savoring the fluidity of his movements, young and strong. He wasn’t afraid of hurting Ed because his body could take it; didn’t think twice about digging nails into his flesh – a warning before the thrusts came more viciously.

The programmer groaned into the desk, pleaded for more, wanted it harder. Sweat slicked fingers screeched over the polished surface as he jerked and came in Sam’s hand, coating him in strings of thick ejaculate as the rest splattered on the floor. Sam’s face buried between Ed’s shoulder blades as his body shook and he was overtaken with ecstasy. Teeth sunk into the other’s skin, made him jerk and struggle, push back on Sam’s cock as he filled him with cum.

They remained still when it was over, both breathing heavily, lost in astonishment and satisfaction and regret. Sam pulled out slowly, made no comment as he cleaned off and recomposed.  
Ed pulled his belt taught, said, “I didn’t know you were done with Bradley, that’s why I never…” He blushed then, fingers flying up the buttons of his shirt with a childlike giddiness, and the words weren’t scathing, weren’t meant to devastate the other man though they did.

Sam shrugged in response, couldn’t admit he was an adulterer because he thought Ed understood, thought he knew what they were doing - thought he was okay with it.

“You up for lunch?”

Sam stared quietly, mouth slightly agape and his answer was blunt and cold because this was a game and never meant to be anything else.

“No.”

Ed exhaled an “Oh,” and regarded him unmoving, waited for the answer to be retracted while Sam waited for him to leave. “You’re busy, I’d think. Next time,” came in a whisper and he left with vest in hand and hair disheveled, dejected or humiliated or both.

In the boardroom, Dillinger buried himself in his computer, his touchpad, his phone. Normally vocal about his opinions, about what Sam was doing wrong, he was silent, unnerved, and his bizarre behavior caught the attention of Alan Bradley.

The senior employee leaned forward and shifted his weight, anxious but unsure if he should question his coworker’s health. It wasn’t his place to coddle a grown man, but Junior was pale and distressed and Alan couldn’t help that concern painted his face.

When the room started to clear, Ed remained planted in his seat, arms crossed against his chest and expression like stone. Alan hesitated, waited for him to get up and Sam to follow and when neither happened, called after his young lover.

Sam nodded in acknowledgement, forced a smile as he replied, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Alan gave one more look to Ed, asked lightly if he was okay. There came a curt nod but he was otherwise ignored, and Alan shrugged, took it as his cue to leave.

There wasn’t anger at first, it came later when Ed cornered Sam in the back of the room, and then the rules were gone, there was only honor and betrayal, right and wrong, and the programmer had no difficulty spewing exactly what he thought of the son of Kevin Flynn.

Sam treated him like a toy – he was being played, in business, in the bedroom, and he was finished, it was on - Ed would see him fall. Sam didn’t deserve ENCOM, he didn’t even deserve love, and the words stung, bled into his heart and bones, threatened to rip him apart.

Then there was silence, Ed was spent, had to catch his breath and restructure his thoughts. Sam teetered between breaking down completely and swallowing sadness, and not one for restrictions, chose neither. He grabbed Ed’s face in his hands, forced his lips over the other man’s who grunted in displeasure before his body melted and he allowed it to happen.

It was understood now that this was wrong, that Ed was helping Sam sin and neither felt it right but they couldn’t stop. The intensity increased, each battling for more, pulling back to tease before attacking again, unable to stay away for long.

Ed didn’t know why he wanted Sam, didn’t know why he was attracted to a man who would hurt him. Maybe he knew nothing else. Maybe after years of berating from his father, high standards from teachers and bosses, he liked being beaten down, enjoyed feeling worthless.

As they parted, Sam whispered, “Tomorrow,” and the insinuation made Ed flinch but there was no objection. Dillinger wiped his mouth on his sleeve, straightened his glasses as Sam ironed out invisible wrinkles in his shirt. Their eyes caught briefly and then Ed walked away, gait powerful but swift and urgent as he slipped through the glass doors of the conference room.

Sam’s phone sparked to life, beating against the table with the rat-tat-tat of a drill, shocking the breath from him. He allowed it to dance angrily, smiled when he correctly predicted a voicemail from Alan, who, despite his love of technology, never embraced text messaging. It was too impersonal.

The grin quickly faded and there was a moment where Sam debated not replying at all, letting Alan wait and letting him starve, but he’d already fucked up enough. His heart fell into his stomach and he felt a sudden urge to know everything was still okay, that Alan had no idea, that he hadn’t broken their relationship completely.

The voice on the other end answered, “Hello?” with a sharp, unassuming rise in tone like he hadn’t checked the caller ID.

“Hey, sorry about lunch today. Dillinger had some concerns and I couldn’t get rid of him.”

“Oh, hey, Sam. I know how that goes. I’ve had to ditch more people over the length of my career than years you’ve been alive.” He chuckled then, age always something Sam lovingly teased him about and Sam gave a good-natured smile out of courtesy despite unable to be seen.

“Are you two butting heads again? If you need to talk about it…”

“Yeah,” he blurted, hand flying up to scratch the back of his head. “Yeah, I know. It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just grab a sandwich. Make sure you eat, alright?”

Sam nodded slowly then spit out, “Yeah,” again when he remembered his movements couldn’t traverse the phone line. An awkward silence assaulted his ears before “I’m sorry” came from a voice weak and shaking. He wanted to apologize again, repeat it a million times because it hurt now, but Sam kept quiet, may have already said too much.

Alan shifted on the other end, waiting to speak until the odd display could be interpreted. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll survive one day alone eating roast beef,” he assured. “See you at home.”

The phone remained clenched in Sam’s hand, pressed impossibly close to his ear as he said his goodbyes. Though Alan was unaware of the truth, some part of Sam felt relieved, like he’d confessed and been forgiven. There was something beautiful about Alan, a sense of security and devotion, of being too wise to make petty mistakes or give in to negative emotions. He was that part of Sam the boy had been born without, a great teacher and a better friend, everything he wished he could be.

Alan was forbidden once too, a father figure and an older man. Sam had always admired him, felt safe and loved and when the feelings turned sexual it was jarring. He was young and confused, disturbed by his own wants and needs, told himself he was too immature to understand his feelings because it was obvious they were wrong.

One day he’d kissed Alan, gently, so much so he thought he could play it off as an accident if the action backfired. Alan didn’t take the bait but didn’t turn in disgust, and Sam, with his teenage brain half-functioning, tried again, was more determined the second time.

Alan kissed him back, couldn’t help himself because Sam was young and handsome and needed to be saved, but the moment was short-lived. His senses came flooding back and a hand landed on the boy’s chest to gently push him away.

“No, this isn’t what you want.”

Sam spent his whole life being assaulted with what he should and should not do and what he should and should not want, and in many ways this was too much; this was the one that broke him.

The talk was short because both were mortified and in the end it was decided not to be discussed again. Yet Sam never forgot. He knew Alan wanted him too and so he would wait - wait to grow up or wait for the other’s morals to decay.

He would wait for Alan.

Sam knew what he was giving up, knew Alan’s body was weaker, that one day he would be alone long before he was old enough to be alone forever, and he accepted the baggage. The past couple years had been trying when the difference in their ages suddenly became painfully apparent; when Sam jumped from buildings and Alan sat with the paper in his lap and heat pad on his knee. It was funny at first, just another thing to tease the older man about, but then it was frightening. It brought responsibility and thoughts of loss and Sam wondered if he was strong enough to push through.

The sex didn’t matter then; it didn’t matter for a long time, until Sam overcame his ridiculous fear of coming home to a dead body. Then suddenly sex was very important. Suddenly the denial was torturous and inhumane. Sam was addicted, he had withdrawal. Gentle caresses weren’t enough, mouths and hands, they weren’t enough.

Love, sometimes, wasn’t enough.

His body was anxious, it ached, felt like it was dying, and it wasn’t fair. Sam didn’t want anyone else but it killed him that he couldn’t have Alan. The longer he waited, the more he rationalized, skewed his own beliefs. His needs were physical, had nothing to do with love, and so he could be justified or forgiven for straying.

His eyes wandered first, to the college student at the coffee shop and the star baseball player on TV, and it was innocent fantasy. Stuck in a room all day with Edward Dillinger, Jr. was different.

A sick infatuation developed for Ed, the sharp-tongued programmer and son of his father’s adversary. Ed didn’t like Sam, didn’t like that he was handed such responsibility when it was obvious the concept eluded him, and there was always tension between them, intense and fiery. Ed had a spark, a certain edge and brutality Alan didn’t possess that was dangerous and alluring. It was wrong to want him, on every level, and that made Sam need him tenfold.

When Ed entered his office the next day and locked the door behind him, Sam felt that rush of adrenaline, the same feeling of euphoria and horror that swept through his body when pulling one of his idiotic stunts.

He groaned, “Fuck me,” and his employee paused, lips twisting slowly.

“I see…” Junior hummed, words thick and smug, and Sam heard the warning but let it be. He needed this too badly.

Ed wanted him on the floor, on his knees, and Sam was eager to oblige. A strangled moan escaped when he was stretched and penetrated, and he panted, almost cried out in want and relief. It had been too long since he’d been filled, felt so complete, and he welcomed the pain and all the shame that came with it.

Then there was hot breath on the back of his neck and fingers digging into his waist and the sick, sweet sound of Dillinger’s voice. “Bradley can’t get it up anymore, can he?”

Sam was stunned at first, expected as much from Dillinger yet still surprised by the venom. He hissed, “ _Shut up_ ,” but refused to stop what they started; gave Ed free reign to torture him. He was already in too deep so he would push the limits, forever a believer in all-or-nothing. Sam always heard love your body and revere sex, and his adventure-seeking nature prevented him from respecting one, but now it was neither.

Sam gave in, begged for it, intoxicated by need, drowning in weakness. Ed said nothing else – didn’t have to – Sam was burying himself in his own grave. It was over quickly when evidence of Sam’s betrayal stained the carpet and he didn’t even care – didn’t care about anything, not at this moment.

The disgust hit when he came home and the man who’d loved him his entire life, cared for him like a son and then a lover, kissed him softly and he didn’t kiss back. Alan didn’t deserve such treatment, but Sam did. It was punishment for himself, for being unworthy of this man and his love, and all Sam could imagine was the whole situation unraveling completely.

“You feel okay?”

A hand came up to his forehead and brushed through his hair. Sam nodded frailly and Alan didn’t pursue it; knew from experience Sam may never confide in him though he always made himself available. It was something he found difficult but accepted because there were sacrifices – they both had to make them.

Instead he pulled the younger man into an embrace, enveloped himself in a warmth they both fed off of - pure and alive and comforting. Hands slipped under Sam’s jacket and massaged his shoulders while mouth found its way to his ear. Alan murmured, “Relax a bit,” as he pulled the fabric down to his elbows.

Sam said nothing when Alan moved to his hips, lower to his belt and into the waistband of his pants. There was a sharp jerk as he was pulled forward into a waiting palm and Sam let out a whimper of a sigh, felt himself grow hot. When Alan kissed him again, he fell into it, caught his lips with an animal-like lust, craved his taste and craved his tongue. He needed Alan, wanted him badly, tried to capture him the only way he could.

They were on the bed, clawing at each other’s clothes and pawing at flesh like it was fresh and new. Sam straddled him, grinded in his lap as he moaned in the older man’s mouth, cock leaving wet trails up his stomach.

He rasped, “Fuck me,” because he wasn’t thinking – he never thought anymore - and his heart stopped and his body froze and he wanted to die. It took only a second for Alan to recover and trail kisses up Sam’s chest. His touch dropped to the younger man’s legs and massaged over the thick muscles, swiped over the smooth flesh on his inner thigh.

Sam caught his hands. “No, it’s okay.”

Alan grinned, replied teasingly, “It will only take a second.”

“I need to get to bed anyway. Have another meeting tomorrow.”

Alan was still a moment before asking quietly, “Another meeting with Junior?”

“No,” was the reply, but he didn’t have another name at ready and so it was left at that – blunt and unconvincing.

“You seem stressed lately,” Alan prodded but Sam didn’t bite. His hands began their work again, crawling teasingly close to Sam’s arousal. “Let me help you.”

Sam stopped him again, said simply and with a reassuring smile, “It’s okay.”

They’d been through this before and Alan had long argued against Sam pleasuring himself, insisted he finish what he started, but Sam always said no, didn’t want to receive when the other man could not, and Alan learned to just let it go.

Tonight, when his lover said it was okay, he believed him, and he let it go.

Sam found himself standing over the toilet, like he so often did, hand running in long, rough strokes over his cock, freshly slicked with spit. It didn’t feel good; had lost its appeal some time ago. He was becoming numb, from the inside out, felt his soul dying alongside his integrity.

He’d always been confused and lost, by his mother’s death, his father’s disappearance. He never understood what was expected of him or how to achieve. He couldn’t control the world and he couldn’t control his own foolishness, and now he stared into the bowl with forehead pressed against forearm, pressed against the wall, and his cheeks quickly coated with tears, wet and hot.

Sam never learned how to fix himself. He couldn’t fix this either.


End file.
